


TSIF (Thank Satan It's Friday)

by ObliObla



Series: Obli's Fuckruary 2020 [21]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Established Relationship, F/M, Fuckruary 2020 (Lucifer TV), Humor, Light Dom/sub, Masturbation, Sex Toys, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22928275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliObla/pseuds/ObliObla
Summary: So, to sum up, one Detective Chloe Jane Decker, having spent the past two weeks buried in red tape and bureaucratic slop, wants nothing more than to drink her wine, have a couple of glasses of whiskey, and drag the Devil to his bed to have her merry way with him until at least Sunday afternoon.TSIF, as the saying goes: Thank Satan It’s Friday.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Series: Obli's Fuckruary 2020 [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1619344
Comments: 36
Kudos: 224





	TSIF (Thank Satan It's Friday)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [matchstick_dolly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/matchstick_dolly/gifts).



> Day 21! (I'll get there, no worries) Prompt: Masturbation/Autofellatio
> 
> Happy belated birthday, matchstick_dolly!

It’s over. It’s finally over.

The great beast, the dragon, the monster in the dark, the serpent, the destroyer—the prince of this world, if you will—has finally been defeated. Mankind has received its revelation and is again safe from the influence of the evil one.

Yearly performance reviews have finally,  _ finally  _ ended. 

Chloe is still celebrating as she parks her car in the garage under Lux and leaps out. She dances her way to the elevator, swinging the bottle of Prosecco she picked up at the liquor store by the precinct slightly more than is probably advisable. She knows Lucifer has actual champagne, but dammit they are going to drink her booze first. And then they are going to drink  _ his _ booze until she forgets about reviews entirely. Hopefully, if she’s lucky, all the way till next year when the adversary will rise once more from the pit to make battle on Creation and her ability to just do her damn job.

She smacks the button to the penthouse, scans her fingerprint on the scanner she insisted be installed after they started dating, and leans heavily against the wall. Somehow, miraculously, they actually finished early, so he’s not expecting her for a few hours. But she didn’t even bother to text, so wrapped up in relief she doesn’t have the brainpower for much else.  _ He  _ has been spared the horrors of the annual assessments, lucky Devil. Though, really, it was more of a safety measure for them than a reprieve for him. Nothing is ever simple or easy with the Devil, and if anything requires simple and easy, it’s police bureaucracy.

So, to sum up, one Detective Chloe Jane Decker, having spent the past two weeks buried in red tape and bureaucratic slop, wants nothing more than to drink her wine, have a couple of glasses of whiskey, and drag the Devil to his bed to have her merry way with him until at least Sunday afternoon. 

TSIF, as the saying goes: Thank Satan It’s Friday.

The elevator dings, the doors pull open, and she steps out into the main room of the penthouse expecting to see her Devil at one of his usual pursuits: playing the piano, drinking at the bar, passed out on one of his Italian leather sofas, reading an ancient text butt naked, or even, maybe, standing on the balcony yelling at the sky. Again. But he is nowhere to be seen.

“Mmf...” The indistinct noise drifts down the stairs that lead to the bedroom and makes heat rise in her cheeks. Listening more closely, she can just about make out the telltale sounds of sucking, slurping, and muffled moans that signify a blow job in progress. This is not exactly a surprising occurrence for Lucifer’s penthouse, but as Chloe’s mouth is distinctly uninvolved with the proceedings, she has… questions.

Dropping the bottle on the bar on the way, she stomps across the living space to stand at the entrance to the bedroom, and...and…

And now, she supposes, she has her answer.

Lucifer is lying on his bed, naked, which is perfectly normal Devil behavior. What is  _ not _ perfectly normal Devil behavior is his hips pulled up off the mattress, ass and legs in the air, one knee resting beside his head, which is resting on a pillow. His eyes are closed in bliss, and his lips are stretched around the head of his own cock while he sucks contentedly. He grips his base with one hand, the other clenched in the sheets, and flexes his hips, drawing himself further into his own mouth. He moans, cheeks hollowing as he sucks harder.

His abs ripple with every slow thrust, and a flush is painted down his cheeks, over his busy throat, and across his chest. She watches, open mouthed, as he gets closer and closer to the edge, stifled hums and groans rising in pitch as they do before he comes. His free hand slides leisurely up his back and over the curve of his ass to grab at the back of his thigh, pulling himself deeper. His hips snap forward, and he whines high in his throat. She rubs her legs together involuntarily, fingernails digging into her palm. At the moment of ecstasy, his eyes pop open, fix on hers… and all Hell breaks loose.

He tries to pull away to say something—she doubts he’s embarrassed, but he clearly wasn’t expecting her to walk in on this particular moment of self-love—but before he can stop himself, he’s coming, hard, hips jerking into the motion, words torn from him in favor of a long, low moan.

A long, low moan that immediately peters out into baffled, pained sputtering as come shoots directly up his nose and splatters over his unfortunately wide and staring eyes. He yelps, falls ass over dripping face backwards, and lands on his side in a tangle of limbs. He rolls awkwardly to his feet, eyes squeezed shut, cock bobbing wildly. His hands leap to his face, crawling over his skin like some fundamental fact of the universe has changed.

“Is in ny  _ doze!” _ he cries. He stumbles forward blindly, one hand grabbing at the nearest Assyrian column. “Ek’tif, why ah ny eyes urnen?”

And she  _ should  _ help, should lead her poor, confused boyfriend to the bathroom and get him a washcloth to clean his face. But her legs are like jello, her face is burning red, and it’s all she can do to helplessly and almost violently burst into laughter. When the shaking becomes too strong, she leans down and grabs her knees for support

He scowls at her. At least, she thinks that’s the expression peeking through the red-and-white splotchy mess that is his face. He shoves past her, barrels into the piano with a dissonant  _ clang, _ shouts, “Shid!” then apparently manages to find the bar. He makes his way behind it, cursing and spitting, not that Chloe can see.  _ She’s _ still frozen in place, still laughing, eyes watering, breaths coming in gasps.

She hears the sink turn on, hears Lucifer’s sigh of relief. The loud, trumpeting sound of him blowing his nose, as it were, brings the laughter into uncontrollable giggling territory. 

God’s brightest and most beautiful angel comes back into her range of vision, hair damp and curly, face raw from scrubbing, eyes red-rimmed. “You done?” he asks scathingly.

She hiccups, tries to get her breathing under control, fails entirely, and laughs harder, her ribs seriously starting to ache. He stands there, tapping his foot and glancing at a non-existent watch on his wrist. Every shift of his hips causes his still wet dick to bounce, and it drives her into yet further hysterics. It’s as if every bit of tension and stress and frustration from the last few weeks is pouring out of her mouth in cackles, snickers, chortles, and the occasional barking guffaw.

“I see the demented witch on crack has made a reappeareance,” he mutters, walking off to strip and remake the bed. He’s disappeared into the closet by the time the laughter finally dies and she feels capable of walking again. She drags herself to the bed and collapses onto it, burying her face in soft sheets. 

She starts to wonder, as she slowly calms, if he’s actually upset with her. It’s not exactly the most pleasant sensation to get come in one’s eyes—she can thank Dan and his occasionally ‘itchy trigger finger’ for that particular knowledge—and Lucifer clearly wasn’t expecting it to hurt. And it wouldn’t normally, she recalls as she pulls herself up to sit; it was only painful because she was close to him. 

His reappearance seems to confirm her concerns. He’s holding a large, leather messenger bag and doing his best kicked puppy impersonation. He starts to make his way past her, and she scoots forward to put her hand on his arm. “Hey, I’m…I’m sorry I laughed at you. I was just so exhausted from work, and—”

“Nope,” Lucifer says, popping the ‘p’ dramatically. His sad-eyed look evaporates into nothing, and he grins.

“What?” She really thought she was starting to get a handle on his occasionally rapidly shifting moods.

“Not good enough,” he says breezily, dropping the bag next to her. He reaches in and far from holding clothing, toiletries, or anything else her work-frazzled brain might’ve worried about, it’s full to bursting with sex toys.

_ Ah. _

“Not good enough, huh?” she asks as he pulls out a pair of padded, leather cuffs, a set of nipple clamps, and a bright red butt plug.

“No, I’m quite hurt,” he says with a truly ridiculous pout that immediately turns into a leer as he shakes the cuffs suggestively. “I demand recompense. Payback, if you will.”

“Do you, now?”

He smacks his hand over the center of his bare chest like the heroine of a badly-acted telenovela. “Emotional damages, love. I may never be the same again. Not to mention the crimes perpetrated against my poor, beleaguered sinuses.”

“Mm-hmm.” She glances at the bag again. “Does this payback happen to be oddly similar to what you already had planned?”

He shrugs. “They... may share certain characteristics.”

“I’m sure.” She holds out her wrists for the cuffs, wondering if her clothes should be considered forfeit. She likes this shirt, dammit, but now that she’s stopped laughing, she’s  _ very _ interested in where he’s going with this.

He shakes his head and makes a twisting gesture with his hand. “No, no, behind your back like a proper penitent.”

She rolls her eyes but does as she’s bid, turning around. But before she can offer her wrists again, he takes her by the hips and lifts her off the bed, carrying her until she’s facing a column. Her legs scramble beneath her, but he holds her steady until she can stand upright. The moment she does, he pushes her—carefully—into the wall and pulls her wrists behind her back one by one to cuff.

“Hey!” she shouts, and he chuckles, kicking her legs apart like she does with suspects.

“Oh, I thought I was being clear,” he says darkly, rearranging her until her cheek and shoulders are pressed against the stone. “You, Chloe Decker, are under arrest.”

“For what?” she bites back.

“For, er… b-boyfriend crimes!” he crows, unreasonably proud of himself. “You laughed at me!”

She snorts. “You deserved it. You looked ridiculous, and you’re  _ fine.” _

“How  _ dare _ you? You’ll pay for that, Detective.”

“Will I? Because right now you seem to be all talk and no— Oh,  _ ohh…” _

He cups her through her jeans with one hand and roughly fondles her clothed breasts with the other. “Mess with the Devil,” he whispers by her ear, “you get the horns.”

“Okay, you did  _ not _ just say that.” 

“Don’t laugh!” he cries. But she can’t help it, shaking against the stone, cuffs rattling behind her back. His hand clamps over her mouth, and she freezes, breathing unsteadily through her nose.

“Do I need to institute penalties for laughter?”

He pulls his hand away long enough for her to ask, “Aren’t I already being punished?”

He chuckles lowly. “You think I can’t devise further punishment? I’m the Devil, darling. It’s what I do.”

She shivers, and it has nothing to do with amusement.

“Now,” he says, rubbing circles against her through the denim, “since you arrived so... prematurely—“

She snickers against his palm.

“—and  _ so rudely  _ interrupted my good time,” he continues a little louder, a little more sternly, “why don’t we have a little interrupt of our own?”

He pulls his hand away from her mouth to brush her hair behind her ear, and she licks her lips.

“During the course of the evening’s proceedings, we’ll take a little pause at a time of my choosing, and for every infraction, our moment of peace and calm will get, say, twenty seconds longer?”

She tries to consider all the possibilities, but a very naked, still  _ very  _ aroused Lucifer breathing against her neck is proving highly distracting. And besides, he has never steered her wrong—in the bedroom, at least.

“Fifteen,” she whispers as he presses a kiss to her throat.

He grins against her skin and withdraws, entwining his fingers with hers where she’s cuffed. “It’s a deal, then?”

A deal with the Devil is not something to be taken lightly, and he doesn’t, even with her. She tightens her fingers around his and says, “Deal.”

“Excellent. And because I’m a merciful Devil, I won’t count any of your earlier… transgressions, so the counter will start at zero. Now”—he takes half a step back and claps his hands together—“next, if I recall correctly, is the cavity search.”

“That’s a violation of...of...” But he presses his front against her back and starts undoing the buttons of her shirt, sucking a bruise into her neck, and she mutters, “Never mind.”

“Ooh, I think I’ve found some contraband,” he says as he parts her unbuttoned shirt and cups her breasts.

“My boobs?” she asks skeptically, her disdainful tone ruined by a moan she can’t quite suppress as his finger twitches and the front clasp of her bra pops open.

“Yes! This is a violation of California Penal Code Section 11418, Subsection B.”

She frowns, straining her brain. “The... terrorism act?”

“These”—he pushes her bra aside to squeeze them, and her back arches—“are biological weapons, Detective.”

She snorts, but it’s quiet. Maybe he won’t h—

“Oh, naughty, naughty. Is that a laugh I hear?”  _ Fuck, _ this is going to be harder then she thought. “Anyway,” he continues brightly, tweaking her nipples, “do you know how many times these delightful knockers have nearly resulted in my untimely demise?”

“No?”

_ “Repeatedly,” _ he says dramatically. She fails to bite back a giggle, and he pauses a moment so that she knows he heard her. “It’s cruel and unusual punishment, is what it is. I should file a complaint.”

“You... do that,” she replies weakly as his fingertips trail down to skim along her waistband. He fishes her phone out of her pocket and thumbs it open.

“Time to turn this bloody thing off.”

_ “Trixie.” _

“Time to turn this bloody thing to silent, barring emergency calls.” He slips the phone back into her pocket and plays with the button on her jeans. She tries to press into the contact, but he wraps his other arm around her waist and pulls her harder against him. He slips the button free and brushes his fingertips over the patch of skin beneath.

“Wait,” she gasps as he slowly pulls the zipper down, “did...did you  _ memorize  _ the California penal code?”

“I was bored.”

“It’s three thousand pages long!”

“I was  _ very  _ bored.”

“I’m going to make you take my recertification ex— Oh,  _ shit.” _

“Oh, ho, what’s this?” The pad of his thumb skates across the cotton over her clit, and she exhales shakily. “I’m not certain you’re supposed to have this, my dear prisoner.”

She grits her teeth against both amusement and pleasure. “I’m  _ fairly _ certain I am.”

“But is it supposed to be this warm?” He slips two fingers under the edge of fabric and sweeps them over her entrance. “Or this wet?” he whispers.

Her head thuds against the wall, and she mumbles indistinctly.

“No, this just won’t do.” He pulls away from her, and she groans. “I need to take a closer look.” In an instant, he has her turned around, stabilizing hands on her hip and the back of her head before he kisses between the valley of her breasts, nips down her stomach, and settles to kneel in front of her. He pulls her jeans and underwear down around her knees and hums.

“There you are, my pretty pink pleasure palace.”

“Lucifer, what the  _ fuck?” _ Well, that’s a bucket of ice water up her lady parts.

“Lily among thorns? Salty sweet? Georgia O’Keeffe’s wet dream?”

She bites her cheek against another giggle.

“Your honey pot, your love spoon, the cradle of civilization itself.”

_ “Lucifer...” _

“Your jammy dodger?”

“My  _ what?” _ she laughs abruptly.

He traces a line like a check mark over her entrance and sighs. “I’m still not certain what precisely I’m dealing with here. I think I’ll have to sample the merchandise.” Two fingers, quick as a flash, press deep inside, then withdraw.

She chokes on a breath.

He brings them to his lips and pulls them into his mouth, sucking softly, eyes closing. His tongue chases his fingers when he slips them out, and he sighs. “Mm… A fragrant vintage, tart but mellow on the tongue. Nineteen s—“

_ “Careful.” _

_ “—eighty _ ...two?” He looks up at her so much like that sad, eager puppy again that she tries to reach forward and tangle her fingers in his hair, stopped by the weight of the cuffs around her wrists. He rests his cheek against her thigh, tickling her with his stubble, and she forgets herself, giggling softly.

“That’s four,” he sing-songs, pulling away.

Dammit.

He returns to the bag and pulls out something small enough he can hide it in his hand. “You seem to be having some difficulties with our little game. I must be  _ highly _ diverting.”

“Or maybe I’m just easily amused.”

He places his empty hand over his heart. “Detective, you wound me.”

“Uncuff me and see what I’ll do then.”

He chuckles and reveals the bullet vibe in his hand, turning it onto its lowest setting and running it slowly up her inner thigh. “Now, why would I want to free a sinner like you?”

She shudders as the toy bypasses where she wants it to circle her hip bone. “I thought the Devil  _ liked _ sinners.”

He rises to his feet and crowds her against the wall, pressing the vibe hard against her clit. She keens, pulling at the cuffs, and he laughs outright. “Why would I let you go when you’re so very fun to play with?”

She tries to speak, and he twists the vibrator, turning up the vibration until she cries out. Her hips buck against his hand, her back arching when he scrapes his teeth over the bruise he left on her neck. His free fingers tease her, and his other hand holds her up. She gives into it—into  _ him _ —trusting he won’t let her fall. But when she groans, rapidly approaching the edge, he pulls away, leaving her to sag against the wall.

_ “No,” _ she gasps, trying and failing to get her breathing under control.

“Oh,  _ yes,” _ he says, watching her, and she realizes what this punishment is actually going to entail.  _ Shit. _ “Now, I’m afraid we’ll have to move to the bed to complete your examination.” Before she can speak, he gathers her up in his arms and lays her facedown on the mattress, settling pillows under her hips and head. “There  _ is  _ a cavity that has gone completely unexplored, my sweet convict.”

“‘Cavity’ is  _ the _ least sexy word in the world,” she says, turning her face to the side as he pulls off her shoes, socks, jeans, and underwear. “You know that, right?”

“Darling, there are  _ so _ many worse than that.” He plays his fingertips down her spine as he settles next to her. “What if I said that I greatly appreciate the sensation of your vaginal muscles constricting around my erect penis?”

“Then I would tell you that if you ever want your  _ penis _ to come near my  _ vagina _ again, you’ll stop, because this is  _ never  _ going to make me laugh.”

“Even if I told you how beautifully  _ moist _ your—”

“Oh,  _ god,”  _ she groans, lifting her head as far as she can to make direct eye contact.

“Low blow, my love. Low blow.”

“You’re the one who went with ‘moist.’”

“Yes, well, they can’t all be winners.” He slaps her ass, and she gasps. He does a small victory dance on the bed he must have learned from Ella. When he pulls away  _ again _ to grab something, she groans in frustration.

“I don’t need this after the week I’ve had.”

“On the contrary,” he says, running a calming hand down her back, “I think this is  _ precisely _ what you need.” He stands, says, “Be right back, love,” and disappears down the stairs. She hears a  _ pop _ and the slow  _ glug-glug _ of wine being poured from a bottle. When he returns with two glasses—and the bottle—he sets one on the bedside table and helps her take a sip from the other. The Prosecco bursts fine and crisp over her tongue, and she swallows it down gratefully.

He brushes a strand of hair from her face and whispers, “I only wish to take care of you. Trust me?”

She presses her cheek into his hand. “Of course.”

“Have another drink, then, hm?” When she takes a larger mouthful, he adds, “But not  _ too _ fast. Wouldn’t want to get anything  _ up your nose, _ now would you?”

_ “Pfft…” _

“Five!” he shouts gleefully, picking up the other glass, clinking it ostentatiously against hers, and draining it.

She lets her head flop back to the mattress.

“You’re  _ very  _ bad at this, you know.”

She groans into the pillow as a cap is opened and slick fingers trail between her cheeks before he parts her thighs and kneels behind her on the mattress. “Hm, I wonder if there’s anything hiding here?”

“There _ isn’t,”  _ she moans as he massages her open, pressing in a finger, then two, slowly scissoring them. Her flagging arousal is abruptly renewed, and she grinds back against him.

“I  _ suppose  _ you were telling the truth,” he says, withdrawing and making her groan in frustration again. “Let’s fix that, shall we?”

He slides the plug in slowly, slowly enough she tries and fails to increase his pace, arching her back as enticingly as she can.

“You are  _ breathtaking,” _ he whispers.

She pants when it comes to rest inside her. “Does this mean my punishment is over?”

“Oh, no,” he says, rising from the bed to go wash his hands. “We’re just getting started.”

When he returns, he uncuffs her long enough to work out any discomfort in her wrists and remove her shirt and bra—left blessedly intact—then pulls her hands over her head and cuffs her to the headboard. He binds her ankles to the straps waiting at the foot of the bed, pulling her legs apart. He drips cool oil down her spine, making her jump, then massages her boneless. He presses the vibe against the flared end of the butt plug before trailing it between her legs to tease. He brings her to the edge with his fingers and the toy, then pulls away. He brushes a feather duster over her skin until she laughs, then until she moans. Fingernails scratch over her back and down her thighs, soothed with gentle touches. He takes her to the verge again, thumb against her clit, and she shudders when he withdraws.

He unfastens her restraints and turns her onto her back, binding her to the mattress again. The clamps clatter softly when he picks them up. He cups her cheek until she opens her eyes. “How are you doing?” he asks.

She tries to press her thighs together to relieve the pressure, but the ropes pull at her ankles, and she huffs out a breath. “Better if you’d let me come.”

“Not yet,” he says, tracing her lower lip with his thumb. “More champagne?”

_ “Please.” _

She drinks the rest of the glass slowly, and he refills it and brings it back to her lips. When she’s had enough, for now, he puts the glass back on the table.

“I just wish it didn’t take so long to find out how it went,” she grumbles. The waiting is somehow even worse than everything else.

He kisses her, then, slow and sweet, pouring so much feeling into the press of their lips that tears prick at her eyes. He is solid and warm against her, and when he pulls away, it’s only to brush kisses over her cheeks and forehead. “You are a brilliant, capable detective,” he whispers against her skin, “and this review will say precisely that.”

“Yeah…” She tips her head up to stretch out her neck. “I’m just thinking too much.”

“Well, let’s get you thinking  _ less, _ then.”

She snorts, he smirks, and she sighs.  _ “Seven.” _

He leaves her with a last brief kiss before attaching the nipple clamps tight enough to pinch slightly but not to hurt. He tugs on the chain between them, and her eyes slip closed again. She loses time like this, torn between sudden, sharp sensations and the tenderness that follows them. An ice cube is dragged between her folds; a hot tongue trails behind it. A soft stranded flogger taps her thighs before sweeping lightly up her sides, making her giggle. He sucks bruises into her throat and breasts and the hollow of her hip bones, then soothes the ache with his lips.

When he sets the last toy aside—a riding crop whose stiff, leather end he ran up and down her body in curving, intricate patterns until she cried out—he unfastens the clamps. She hisses as a rush of tingling heat floods her chest, and he suckles her nipples before making his way down her body and between her legs.

The first touch of his mouth to her entrance makes her whimper and jerk against her restraints. Every motion is sharper and brighter than it’s ever been, and it never seems to stop. He teases her until she can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but tighten her hands into fists and tremble. He licks slow circles into her before pressing deeper, fucking her slowly with his tongue. Minutes pass in a haze of slowly building need, her pulse hard against his mouth everywhere he touches her. He hums into her, and the pleasure he takes in this only compounds hers. Eventually, the bridge of his nose presses against her neglected clit, but it’s not enough, not  _ enough, _ and she can’t get the leverage she needs to grind against his face.

Slowly, too slowly, his tongue slips from where she’s clenching and rises to lick over her clit in slow passes. She groans or cries or shouts—she’s not sure which—and whispers things even she doesn’t understand, but that taste like  _ Lucifer _ and  _ yes _ and  _ please _ and  _ more. _

She’s already so close that nearly anything would make her fall over, her entire body vibrating with her need for it. Every beat of her heart is like a caress, every flick of his tongue like fire burning everything away but her desire, not taken from her but freely offered, freely given. He fastens his lips around her clit and sucks for a single, blinding moment, and the waves are rising and rising and...

“No!”

He pulls away, sitting between her legs with a horribly satisfied look on his face as her body thrums with denial. A light breeze might be enough to drag her over, but none comes, and she is left with her want clawing at the inside of her skin. She breathes raggedly, vocalizing with every exhale. It hurts, this loss, and she licks her chapped lips as she stares up at her beautiful tyrant.

He smiles beatifically down at her, face wet, eyes still a little red-rimmed from earlier. “Do you feel properly penitent, yet?” he asks softly, tone at odds with his teasing words.

It’s an out, she realizes. A way to end this torture without having to admit defeat. And some part of her—the part that still can’t quite catch her breath, the part that’s throbbing between her legs almost painfully—wants to take it. The weight of her want is almost suffocating, but she is clever, and she is strong, and she knows she can take it. 

“I didn’t do  _ anything,” _ she grinds out between pants, and oh, the hunger that slithers onto his face is worth everything. 

He presses one finger inside, then two, rubbing against the weight of the butt plug. He knows, as always, exactly how much sensation she can handle without cresting the verge, his thumb teasing near, but not on, her clit. His other hand creeps up her stomach to fondle her breasts, and she presses as far into the contact as she can. She thought she was as close as she could be, but he finds with his hands and the heat in his gaze a place she’s never been before. He holds her there, teetering on the precipice. 

“Do you remember the first time you let me strip you, cuff you, bind you to my bed?” he asks, but his voice is no longer calm nor casual. He sounds nearly as wrecked as she feels, though his hands are steady where they tease and ground her.

She’s too close to the edge to speak, so overwhelmed by sensation she can’t do anything except cling to his words. But he doesn’t expect an answer, merely hums and twists his fingers inside of her. 

“Two weeks of sleepless nights and gallons of station coffee and nothing, nothing,  _ nothing _ trying to track down that wretched malfeasant. You were so filled with righteous fury when we finally caught him, so beautiful, so desperate for any kind of release you let me finger you in the precinct bathroom.”

He presses in a third finger, filling and stretching, and she clenches around him, remembering. Her forehead against the stall wall as he slung an arm around her waist for stability. The heat of his body behind her, surrounding her, drawing her away from the world. The shame that burned through her when he pulled her pants down to find how wet she was, soaking through her panties. 

But he had whispered such sweet things in her ear—that she was brilliant, that she was amazing, that she had ensured that asshole would never hurt anyone ever again. And later, when she let him drive her to the penthouse, he fed her fruit from a silver tray, kissed every inch of her body, pinned her to the mattress, and made her forget everything but his hands and his mouth and his cock. 

His thumb brushes her clit, and she jolts from the memory as if she’s been struck by lightning. Her back arches, and she’s suspended, held in a web of her own desires, shining and crystalline and perfect. Her eyes close, and she sees the light refracting off each gossamer thread. A prism of want and need, of freedom and control, and she is held in exquisite tension within its grasp. 

She shivers with the serenity of it. 

A minute or an hour or an eternity later, she is let back down to reality by the sensation of fingers beginning to slowly thrust inside of her. The threads of her desire pull tight, almost constricting, and she cries out with a sound twisted between pleasure and pain.

“You sing so sweetly,” he groans, and she realizes he’s touching himself, stroking his cock roughly with one hand while the fingers of his other apply careful pressure to her g-spot. He moans, long and deep and breathy, and she tightens around him, imagining the sweet heat of his cock between her legs. He matches his motions on himself with the ones within her, and she gives herself over to the sensation of fullness. And she’s so...so—

“Oh, no, not  _ quite  _ yet,” he breathes, and once again she’s torn from the edge. She bites her lip and throws her head back, beyond frustrated. He withdraws entirely, standing at the foot of the bed. She can feel his gaze as he watches her writhe with her denial, still steadily stroking himself, and she squeezes her eyes shut.

Every touch of the sheets against her flushed, sweat-soaked skin makes her shudder; the ropes around her ankles and the cuffs around her wrists make her moan. She feels tender between her legs in the best of ways, and her inner muscles clench with every heartbeat.  _ Fuck, _ she wants to come so badly. She loves this game, but she can’t stay in this place forever.  _ “Please,” _ she whines, pulling against her bindings, and he’s by her side again.

“Shh,” he whispers into her ear, wiping down her face and neck and chest with a cool, damp cloth. “I’ve got you.”

“Lucifer...”

He tosses the cloth aside and frames her face with his hands, pressing their foreheads together. “You did so well, darling.”

She moans into his mouth as he kisses her, lost in every motion of lips and teeth and tongue. “I…” she gasps when he pulls away. “I need you.”

“Yes,” he says fervently, straddling her, almost as desperate as she is. “Whatever you desire.”

His cock presses hot and hard against her hip, and the cuffs rattle with her need to touch him. She swallows dryly, licks her lips, and begs, “Lucifer, please,  _ please _ fuck me,” and there is no shame in it. 

“Of course,” he says, lining himself up, pressing inside so easily. When he bottoms out, he rolls his hips to adjust the fit, and her toes curl. They share a soft, breathless laugh, smiling at each other, and he asks, “Alright?”

_ “Amazing.” _ She relaxes into the mattress, waiting on the edge she’s been at for what feels like hours, past ready to fall over it. He gives her a moment to adjust as she tightens around him. Then another. And another.

And another.

“Lucifer...” Her hips shift restlessly. “Come on.”

“Come on, what?” He smirks, his humor and easy smile from earlier reappearing. “And don’t say ‘up my nose’. Been there, done that. Once was  _ more  _ than enough.”

She bites her lip, blinking rapidly to try to focus. “I...I need—  _ Please, _ move.”

“Hm... I don’t think I will.”

“What?” she breathes.

“Dear, do you remember that deal we made?”

_ No. _ But that was…that was...

“My, you have racked up quite a tally, haven’t you? Nine infractions, so two minutes... fifteen seconds?”

“You can’t—“

“I can, and I shall.” She tries to buck her hips, and he presses them, hard, to the mattress. “Hold still, now. Wouldn’t want me to lose count.”

“Bastard.”

“Sugar plum.”

“I hate you.”

“I love you too, darling.”

This, then, is true torture. Even after being dragged to the brink of orgasm a dozen times, she can’t come like this, not without pressure on her clit and with no way to get leverage. And he knows that, the dick. She never should have agreed to that damn deal.

As always, it seems, the Devil is in the details.

She wonders, for a moment, if it’s really as bad as she’s making it out to be. Surely at least fifteen seconds have passed. Two minutes is nothing, right? But she’s so sensitive that the feeling of stationary fullness is driving her mad, and the thudding of his pulse inside her makes her ache. No matter what she does to try to get him to move, he remains steadfast and still. She clenches rhythmically around him, and he moans but does not move. She tries to buck her hips, and he only tightens his grip.

She leans up to kiss the shell of his ear and whispers, “I love how you feel inside of me,” infusing it with every bit of feeling she can.

“I’m  _ very _ glad to hear that,” he says salaciously, not moving a single inch, “but I’m afraid that’s not going to work.”

“Dammit, Lucifer!”

“Ninety seconds!” he sing-songs, and she sags into the sheets, exhausted and worn and so,  _ so _ desperate.

She considers counting with him, but she loses the thread of time almost immediately. She tries the meditation tactics she hasn’t thought about since the mid ‘90s, and it absolutely does not work. She bites her lip and closes her eyes and tries to breathe through it, and that  _ also _ does not work. She flops back onto the mattress as dramatically as she can with the limited movement available to her and kicks her legs a little to try to get rid of some of her frenetic energy. When that most definitely does  _ not _ work either, she tries to return to that place with the threads and the light and the serenity. But she’s so close, now.  _ Too  _ close to find any kind of peace. She flounders at the edge, but Lucifer catches her.

“It’s okay, Chloe,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to her cheek, and her name on his tongue pulls her from her trance. “Just a few more seconds, and I’ll give you everything you desire.”

“Lucifer, I can’t…”

“You can,” he tells her. “You are so strong I find myself in awe of it, so beautiful I can’t take my eyes off of you. You took your punishments  _ so _ well, and now it’s time for your reward.” He rests his forehead against hers. “Oh, love, you know I can never deny you anything for long. Three… two… one...”

He starts moving, and everything stops.

She doesn’t return to that strange place in her mind filled with thrumming light and twisting desires. No, she has never been more present. There is nothing left in the world but this bed and their bodies, pressed so close there is nothing between them. A thumb finds her clit, but she’s already clenching, already coming. Yet the pleasure doesn’t fall, only rises higher and higher, unceasing waves crashing over her. Every second of frustration or uncertainty, annoyance or fear, has been building to this endless moment. All the teasing and pushing, the laughing and sighing and begging and moaning—every shade of pleasure and pain caught in a prism of their own making. Every beam coalesces into this single, shining peak—and Chloe is falling

And Lucifer is there to catch her. He is always there to catch her.

When she swims back to consciousness, the cuffs are gone, the ropes have been untied, and she’s curled in his arms, breaths slow and deep and even. Every muscle is loose and languid; every concern seems so far away. She sighs contentedly and presses back into his chest.

“Back with me?” he asks, nosing into her hair.

“Mm-hmm.” She throws her elbow back into him without force and says without heat, “You asshole.”

He laughs, bright and happy and free, and says, “Ah, but was it worth it?”

_ “Yes,” _ she moans softly, arching her back as he kisses the tender spot on her neck. She could easily go back to sleep, but her stomach rumbles, and she realizes how hungry she is.

“I’m starving!” she announces, and he grins against her skin before pulling away. But before he can get up, she pulls him down for another kiss and whispers, “And maybe later, I could catch another show like I did earlier?”

“Mm!” he hums into her mouth in affirmation.

“Maybe I could even… get in on the action?”

“I think that could be arranged.” He leers, tongue between his teeth, and she almost gives in to the urge to drag him back down and have her way with him, exhaustion and hunger be damned. But her stomach growls even louder, and he slips off the bed.

“I’ll order us some dinner,” he throws over his shoulder as he waltzes through his penthouse, pert ass swaying as he walks.

She watches him as he goes before pouring herself another glass of Prosecco. TSIF, she thinks as she toasts herself, thinking of all the shenanigans they can and  _ will  _ get up to later. “Bring the whiskey when you’re done!” she calls after him.

Thank Satan It’s Friday.


End file.
